at the end of time and love
by Suncaught
Summary: Not with a whimper, but with a bang. Arthur/Merlin


at the end of time and love

Authors note: Hi! I'm back! Haha :)

This fic is a different take on the night before the final battle. *sniff*

Spoiler alert for the end of the series!

Pairing: Arthur/Merlin

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Merlin.

Rating: M for graphic scenes and language

Not with a whimper, but with a bang.

It dawned upon Arthur that this would probably be the last night he'd ever live through. Tomorrow, probably in the late to mid afternoon (which had never been his favorite time of day and he wasn't too humble to say that this bothered him) he was going to be extinguished, going to sacrifice himself like a stupid noble hero, going to die.

People facing death always say they just want another day. Just one more day and then they'd be happy.

But really, Arthur wanted one more night. He wanted it so badly that if time were tangible, a heavy woolen blanket stubbornly weaving itself ever longer, he would grab it and hold it back until his hands blistered and bruised, until his nails cracked, until he had just one more night worth of hours... But he can't.

Instead he makes the most of the last night he has. Merlin's chapped lips are not soft under his but Arthur doesn't care. He is needy, grasping at straws. His hands clench Merlin's ribs so tight that feather bruises bloom between the bones. Arthur is messy and careless- he doesn't apologize. Merlin shudders beneath him and his cracked, open lips kiss Arthur's with a kind of ferocity that would have been too much, would have been too desperate, would have made him think "No, I can't"- but how can this matter now, when it's Arthur's last night? When death marches as swiftly as soldiers, nothing is too much.

So tonight, Arthur doesn't hesitate to rip off Merlin's tunic and run open mouthed kisses between his shoulder blades. Merlin is scrawny, his body skinny. He's bony in places where Arthur is used to softness on a woman, strong in a brittle way. Sometimes Arthur thinks that in the half-baked starlight, the bones in Merlin's back extend like angel wings.

Arthur smiles like he's a foolish young boy again and fucks like its easy..

He has no time to think, no time to doubt or hesitate about whether he shouldcouldwould, because this is his last night. When the red dawn rises he'll leave his tent that smells like sweat and damp heat, and he'll never come back.

Tonight Arthur fucks Merlin with everything he has, their muscles stretched taught, lungs breathless, and more desperate than he's ever been his whole life.

And God, it feels beautiful. Savory sweet and sticky because everything's better the last time.

Merlin's breath is warm and wet on his collar bone and Arthur's breath catches as it dances downwards across his hips. Here is nothing in this moment except for exhilaration. For a few seconds Arthur doesn't care about dying in the morning. The only thing Arthur can think about is the way Merlin's hair feels in his fingers and the way Merlin's tongue feels on his dick.

They continue until there is nothing but exhaustion and residual euphoria and even afterwards, lying amongst stained bedrolls and with Merlin's mouth still open, and panting, and sinfully red, Arthur still doesn't think about the morning.

There are no furtive, awkward glances, no one stumbles clumsily in an effort to quickly put on clothes or fumbles over words like "Well, uh, goodnight then."

Instead, they settle togther with resigned patience, and there is nothing to do but wait for light to split open the sky.

For once, Arthur lets himself be ignoble. He accepts, just this one time, that he doesn't want to leave the tent at firstlight. No one is supposed to look forward to their own death march. Arthur dreams about a lifetime's worth of endless nights, and doesn't think about the morning.

Arthur doesn't have to think about tomorrow's morning to know that he will leave when the first crack appears in the horizon. There will be no questions asked.

His fingers play like faeries down Merlin's spine, and Arthur waits until his eyelids become too heavy to lift, until his breathing slows and fingers become too tired to move.

When morning comes, the sunlight dances across his lips, fills the hollows at his cheekbones and paints itself on Merlin's bare back like stained glass, and Arthur awakens to face his last dawn.

_Fin._

Oh boy. Yeah. That's that.

Reviews are **greatly** appreciated! Thanks for reading! Love you guys!

Suncaught :)


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